


War Stories

by Decepticonsensual



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 05:22:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kup has a policy of not getting attached to rookies, especially not the reckless ones heading for a crash - but one new recruit is about to test his resolve.  (Warning for graphic depictions of death and gore.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	War Stories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GreyLiliy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyLiliy/gifts).



In the end, he was just a kid.  Kup had met kids like this one before – smart, cocky, having way too much fun for the middle of a war.  Prowl called them asteroid-surfers, and usually held off on assigning them permanent quarters until they’d survived for at least six months, knowing that half of them wouldn’t.  Now, no mistake, Kup _liked_ asteroid-surfers.  He’d been one himself.  But after so much time, they all started to blur together.  Another grinning face in the mess hall; another grinning hologram flickering over a standard-issue coffin as a weary unit commander struggled to recall enough details to string together a eulogy.  So Kup tended to keep his distance.  No point in signing up for pain, right?

Until the day the Wreckers were sent on a last-ditch rescue mission after a bunch of rookies got taken by a Decepticon battle cruiser.  They’d been on a milk run, escorting a new prototype weapon through safe space, but they’d somehow gone badly, _badly_ off course.  Optimus wanted to get any survivors out.  Prowl wanted the weapon back.  Either way, Kup found himself kicking down a door leading into the bowels of the warship, and coming face to face with three hulking ’Cons, dripping with energon, elbow-deep in the gutted remains of their captives.

 _Another eight kids down, Primus slaggit._ Kup circled to the left, keeping his gun trained on the ’Cons, as Springer and Whirl slipped into the room behind him.  Their opponents had powered up their weapons, and the two sides stared each other down, with Kup trying his best not to glance at the eight fresh Autobot corpses.

No – _seven_ corpses.  One of the bodies stirred and gave a wet cough, weakly raising its head –

The nearest Decepticon twitched at the sound, and Kup’s gun fired.  Before the other two ’Cons could react, Springer had blasted one, and Whirl was _on_ the other, whooping as he sliced away with those claws.  The copter had style, Kup would admit at a saner moment – but just now, he was pelting across the room, shouting, “He’s alive!  Kid’s still online!”

The young bot was a mess, he could see as he got close.  Left arm torn out of its socket, right one looking like it had been burned; abdomen ripped open; wiring spilling out sickeningly, and fuel everywhere.  He stank of smoke and burnt oil so badly that Kup had to cover his intakes.  But he was awake.  Wide blue optics gazed up silently as Kup crouched next to him.

“Hey, hey.  You’re gonna be all right.  We’re ’Bots, see?”  He pointed to his Autobrand, using smooth, slow movements so as not to startle the kid.  Pretty much every Autobot alive knew about the Wreckers, but that was different from a panicked torture victim being able to recognise them at first sight.  “I’m Kup.”

“I… remember.”  The kid’s voice was sticky and feeble, but the words were distinct.

Right.  He’d seen this one at HQ.  What was his name?  They were all so alike, all slender frames and splashy colours – Kup’s eye was drawn to the garish flame designs.  They triggered something.  “Hot Rod, right?”

That got a smile, energon-stained as it was.  Kup smiled back, reaching down to stroke the kid’s helm.

And suddenly snapped his gun into position.  “Don’t even think about it.”

The wounded Decepticon, who had been creeping up behind Kup somewhat less stealthily than he’d obviously thought he had, snarled at the gun barrel, but didn’t move.  On the floor, the kid – Hot Rod – was trying to push himself further away from the ’Con, leaving a smear of energon behind on the floor.

“You do this to him?”  Kup’s voice was level and indifferent, in that very special way that would make anyone who knew him back up fifty paces.

Luckily, his opponent didn’t know him.  “Tit for tat.  Little creep almost burned my faceplate off.”  Kup could see the melted paint, and the ugly puckering of the scorched metal beneath it.

Hot Rod actually chuckled at that.  “Frag yeah, I did.”

“You –“  The Decepticon started to lunge, only to be knocked flying by the butt of Kup’s gun.

Enraged, Kup loomed over him.  “Don’t.  Touch.  Him.  Now, you know where the cargo you took off the kid’s ship is?”

“Frag you, Autoscum.  I’m not telling you anything.”

Kup shrugged, pressed the barrel against his spark, and pulled the trigger.

Kicking the smoking corpse away, he turned to Springer, who had managed to get a few more answers out of his now-cuffed prisoner.  (In the background, Whirl was still having fun with his own ’Con.  Whirl’s idea of fun was messy.)  “We gotta get this one back to the ship.  Tell Perceptor to get ready for wounded.”

Springer nodded and sent the comm., then bent to help Kup lift the half-conscious youngster as gently as possible.  “Hey, kid, talk to me,” Kup urged.  “You really burn that ’Con’s face off?”

“Flamejets,” Hot Rod murmured drowsily.  “M-malfunctioned after what they… Short set my own arm on fire, but I got him.”

“Attaboy,” Kup whispered as they carried him to safety.

***

He found Hot Rod sitting on the roof of the hanger bay, watching the ships come and go.

Kup didn’t make his presence known right away.  After all, he should really leave this one alone.  He had his rule, and Hot Rod had “short shelf life” written all over him like those damned flames.  He’d barely made it out alive once.  The medics had patched him up beautifully – Perceptor was an artist with a welder – but his abdomen was a patchwork of healing scars, and it was obvious from the way he cradled his burnt arm that it still ached.  He’d gotten lucky.  How long until that luck ran out?  A year?  Two?

Kup had his hands full with mechs he’d trained who _did_ know how to take care of themselves.  He didn’t need to take this one on, too.

But out of a room full of dead rookies, this was the one who’d not only survived, but almost managed to take one of the enemy with him.

Kup dropped down next to Hot Rod, unshouldering his rifle and laying it across his lap.  “Shanix for your thoughts, kid.”

Hot Rod sighed, and turned to him with a smile.  Kup knew that smile.  It was too confident, too bright, bordering on manic; a smile that couldn’t even convince itself.

“Hot Rod.”  Kup put a hand on his shoulder – carefully, so as not to aggravate the wounds.  “You don’t have to.”

There was a second’s pause, and then Hot Rod closed his eyes in relief, slumping forward.  “Thanks.”

“You know, you didn’t do half bad back there.  Better than average.  You’re gonna fit right in around here.”  He caught Hot Rod’s grimace.  “I know, I know.  Kids like you, you always wanna stand out instead.”

“I _need_ to, I…”  Hot Rod shaded his optics to watch a shuttle take off.  “I got a lot to make up for.”

That surprised Kup, but he didn’t push.  Time enough for that story, if Hot Rod wanted to tell it.  Instead, they sat in silence for a while, and then Kup put a companionable arm around the kid’s shoulders.  “Hey, I ever tell you about the time me and the whole Primal Vanguard took on a Vok armada?”

“Nah.”  Hot Rod smiled – for real, this time – and rested his head against Kup’s shoulder.  “Tell me.”


End file.
